Authors: A. D. Ryan
I
’m home around four-thirty, and I rush upstairs to put my bag away and fix my hair. I know it’s pointless since Greyston has no interest in me, but that doesn’t mean I still can’t look my absolute best, right?
By five o’clock, I’m pacing in the living room like a crazy person, running my fingers through my hair—and then fixing it because I’ve messed it up—before occupying my hands by biting my nails, which is a habit I thought I’d given up when I was in grade school.
Greyston is set to arrive any minute, and I’m freaking out. You’d think I was introducing them to an actual boyfriend and not my landlord. It really is ridiculous just how nervous I am about all of this.
While I wear a hole in the area rug, Mom is in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner. Dad isn’t due home until six, but I know I’ll need the extra time to warn Greyston about his usual scare tactics.
The doorbell rings, and it startles me a little. Gathering my composure, I check my hair in the mirror above the mantle and call out, “I got it!”
When I pull the door open, I see Greyston on the front step. He’s handsome, dressed in a faded pair of blue jeans, a dark blue button-up shirt, and a black blazer. In his hands is a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and my jaw drops.
“Good evening, Juliette,” he says, his smooth voice pulling my eyes up to his.
“H-hi. Thanks for coming. Come in, please. Can I take your jacket?” I offer.
“These are for your mother,” he says, handing me the flowers so he can slip his blazer off to give to me. It disappoints me a little, but I get over it soon enough when I realize he’s just trying to make a good impression on them.
After hanging it in the closet, I lead him to the kitchen where Mom is checking on dinner in the oven. “Mom?” She looks up, smiles, and closes the oven door before straightening up. “This is Greyston Masters. Greyston, this is my mom, Anne.”
Stepping around the counter, Greyston outstretches a hand, smiling wide. “Mrs. Foster. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Juliette’s told me so much about you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Greyston.” Glancing between the two of us, Mom smirks, and I know that no good can come of it. “You’re even more handsome than Juliette described. Tell me, are you seeing—”
My cheeks are
blazing
, and before she can humiliate me further, I thrust the flowers in her face. “Look, Mom, Greyston brought you flowers. Pretty, huh? You should probably put them in some water.” I turn to Greyston quickly and continue to ramble, not allowing my mother to get another word in edgewise. “Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea? Water? Wine? Beer?”
Greyston is chuckling through my entire spazz-attack. “Iced tea would be great. Thank you.”
I pour Greyston and me each a glass of iced tea while my mother puts her flowers in a vase. “We’ll be in the living room,” I tell her, leading Greyston away from her probing questions.
We have a seat on opposite ends of the couch, and I tuck my legs up under me, facing him. He doesn’t seem nervous at all about tonight, facing me with his left arm draped casually along the back of the couch while the other hand holds his glass.
“Your mom seems great,” he says before taking a drink.
I groan. “I’m so sorry about that. She sometimes speaks without really thinking. She had no right to try to ask if you were involved. I mean, it’s really no one’s business.”
Greyston laughs, and I’m treated to the sparkle in his eyes that tells me it’s genuine. “It’s not a problem.”
Glancing at the clock, I decide it’s time to start warning Greyston about what to expect from my dad.
“Juliette, I’m sure you’re worrying over nothing.”
I shake my head, knowing for a fact that I’m not. “When he comes through that door, he’ll take his jacket off but leave his holster on so his gun is in plain sight,” I tell him, remembering how he’d “welcomed” Ben that same way when we’d begun dating. “He’s going to try to intimidate and shake you up. You can’t let him.”
Before I can warn him further, the front door opens. Dad’s home early.
“Jules? Anne?”
“I’m in here, Cam!” Mom calls out from the kitchen. “Juliette and her friend are waiting for you in the living room.”
I swallow thickly before setting my glass on the coffee table and standing up, wiping my now-sweaty palms on my jeans. “Good luck,” I tell Greyston quietly, turning to see Dad in the foyer.
As promised, Dad takes his jacket off and hangs it in the closet before joining us—holster on. Quickly, Greyston stands and makes his way around the couch, holding out his hand. “Mr. Foster. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
Dad accepts Greyston’s handshake—but says nothing—so I decide to break the ice. “Dad, this is Greyston Masters. The man I’ll be renting the room from.”
“We’ll see,” is all he says before taking a seat in his recliner. He doesn’t sit back and get comfortable, though; instead, he sits on the edge and leans on his thighs, his deep brown eyes staring hard at Greyston.
Greyston and I sit back down on the couch, but I’m far from relaxed; my back is straight, my posture rigid, and my pulse is racing.
“So, Mr. Foster,” Greyston begins, his voice confident and smooth. “Juliette tells me you’re on the police force.”
Dad nods. “I am.”
Great,
I think to myself.
We’re in for the short-answer replies. This is going to be like pulling teeth.
Greyston is determined, though, and continues without balking. “I can only imagine it’s a very rewarding career—to know that you’re out there making the city a safer place.”
There seems to be some kind of staring contest going on between the two of them, and it makes me nervous. My fingers are twitching, and I have to press my hands hard into my thighs to keep from fidgeting while the silence drives me mad.
“I do what I can,” he says, and I feel as though I can breathe a little easier now that the unnerving quiet has broken. “I feel that safety in the home is where it all starts.”
Here it comes
.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Greyston concurs confidently, even going as far as to smile at my dad.
Dad smirks, but it’s not out of amusement. “As I’m sure Juliette’s told you, I’m not too keen about this living situation.” He points between the two of us, and Greyston nods, clearly not wanting to interrupt. “I’ve done everything in my power to keep her safe for the last twenty years, so to hear that she was planning to move in with someone—a man, no less—that she found through an advertisement… Well, let’s just say I’ve witnessed enough in my years on the force to be a little leery.”
My mouth has just opened to tell Dad that he’s jumping to all the wrong conclusions, when Greyston beats me to it. “While I understand your concerns, Mr. Foster, I assure you that I mean your daughter no harm. I don’t know what all Juliette has told you, but my home is located in one of the newer communities here in Phoenix, and I had a state-of-the-art alarm system installed upon moving in.”
“So, no one can get in, and no one can get out.”
My eyes and mouth widen in disbelief. “Dad!” I scold. “That’s not what he’s saying. God, chill out.”
Maintaining his composure, Greyston smiles and turns to me. “No, Juliette, it’s okay. I get it.”
He’s just turning back to my dad when I reach out and grip his bicep—his strong, hard bicep. With his eyes back on me, I inhale shakily and remember what it is I was about to say. “No. It most definitely is
not
okay,” I say, glaring angrily at my father.
The cocky jerk only grins at me; he’s screwing with us, and it only seems to be riling me up. “Jules, would you mind grabbing me something to drink?”
His request worries me a little, but there’s something in his eyes that tells me I needn’t. “Uhhhh…” I look between Dad and Greyston, and when my eyes catch Greyston’s, I’m surprised by how at ease he still seems—even after my father’s less-than-kind remarks. Confident, even. “Y-yeah. Sure.”
As I leave the room, I hear Dad asking Greyston more about his neighborhood. While I want to duck around the corner and listen in on their conversation, I know I’ll be found out one way or another. So I continue on, only hearing the first little bit of Greyston’s answer before I’m in the kitchen.
“Hey, sweetie,” Mom says, looking up from her cookbook. “What’s up?”
“Um, Dad asked for a drink,” I say with a shrug, pulling a stool from under the counter, plopping down on it, and resting my chin in my hands. “But I know he was just trying to get rid of me so he could interrogate Greyston.”
“He’s cute,” she blurts out, and I immediately grimace.
“Oh yeah, scaring the crap out of the guy I have to live with is really freakin’ adorable.”
Mom laughs, shaking her head. “Not your father—well, him too, I suppose—but I was
actually
referring to Greyston.”
Warmth fills my cheeks, and I find myself looking anywhere but at my mother. “Um, I suppose he’s a little good-looking.”
Because she’s my mother, she sees right through me. “Yeah, ‘a little.’ Please, Juliette. You were making googly eyes at him the entire time you were standing in the kitchen.”
I’m offended—and also not surprised. “I was not!” One look from her and I’m burying my face in my hands. “Okay, okay,” I mumble into my palms before peeking at her through my fingers. “What am I going to do?” The left side of her mouth turns up into a sly smirk, and I grab the tea towel off the countertop and toss it at her with a laugh. “Mom!”
Abandoning her cookbook, she comes around and pulls the other stool out next to me. “Relax, I was only teasing. He seems like a very nice young man.”
Suddenly, I hear Dad’s laughter coming from the living room. My eyes meet Mom’s, shock clearly written across my face as I launch myself off my stool. By the time I make it back to the living room, Dad is relaxed back into his chair—his holster no longer on or even in sight.
What the hell happened while I was in the kitchen? I hadn’t been gone that long.
Dad looks extremely happy, his eyes shining with what I assume to be tears of laughter. I can’t even put into words how shocked I am to be witnessing this. And here I thought he was going to be a hard-ass the entire evening. Clearly, I underestimated Greyston’s ability to win him over.
“What’s going on in here?” I ask, looking between the two of them with wide eyes.
Dad glances at me, looking somewhat perplexed. It’s then that I realize I’ve forgotten his drink. Thankfully, Mom’s right behind me to save the day.
“Juliette, honey, you forgot your father’s beer in the kitchen.” Mom hands Dad his beer and sits on the armrest of his chair. “Dinner should be ready right away,” she announces, draping her arm over Dad’s shoulders.
Settling back onto the couch—possibly closer to Greyston than before—I try to get a feel for the atmosphere in the room. Mom and Dad begin to talk quietly amongst themselves, so I decide to ask Greyston how he managed to change my dad’s pre-conceived notions so quickly.
“So,” I begin, “things are going well?”
Greyston chuckles quietly, shifting his body to face mine again. His knee touches mine, and a spark shoots through me. I’d blame static, but this seems to be the effect he has on me every time we’re together. “Your father’s not quite as terrifying as you seem to think.”
“Yes,” I argue. “He is.”
I think Greyston is about to tell me what was said between him and my dad but is interrupted by my parents standing up, and my mom announcing that dinner is ready.
Mom and Dad lead the way to the dining room where the table is set for four: two places on one side for Mom and Dad, and two on the other for Greyston and me. Dad, Greyston, and I find our seats while Mom heads back to the kitchen to retrieve dinner.
“This smells absolutely amazing, Mrs. Foster,” Greyston proclaims, pulling my chair out for me.
My parents’ expressions aren’t missed as I accept Greyston’s chivalrous act. Their eyebrows shoot straight up, widening their eyes, and their mouths are gaping slightly. While I’m sure Greyston has already caught the looks they are giving us, I clear my throat to make them stop.
Mom’s the first to speak, setting the casserole down in the middle of the table. “Thank you, Greyston. It’s one of Juliette’s favorites. And, please, call me Anne.”
We all take a minute to dish up before Mom gets the conversation flowing. “So, Greyston, what is it that you do for a living?”
I find myself sitting up a little straighter and looking at my father while awaiting Greyston’s answer. I anticipate a huge reaction because Dad’s generally pretty animated when it comes to anything sports-related.
“Actually, I’m a sports agent,” Greyston announces.
My dad is looking at Greyston, but there’s no excitement. I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed.
“I think it’s kind of cool,” I say, gaining a strange look from my mom. I can understand her reaction—I’m not a sports kind of person—but I’m trying to get my dad excited about this.
Greyston shoots me that crooked smile that makes me all tingly. “Thanks. I was actually just telling your dad that it was my agency that helped sign the Cardinals’ new quarterback.”
Well, that would explain my dad’s lack of response; he already knew. Damn, I was hoping to have been around for that.
“In fact, Cam…” I’m stunned by Greyston’s use of Dad’s first name, but neither one of them seems fazed. “The team’s manager gave me a few extra tickets to their next game. I don’t suppose you and your family would like to join me?”
Dad’s eyes practically bug out of his head, and the food he’s just scooped onto his fork falls back to his plate with a quiet
splat
. His astonished reaction makes me feel a little better about not having been around when Greyston told him about the sports agent thing.
“You mean the game next weekend? Against the Eagles?” Dad looks like he’s about to pass out; I’m starting to get concerned.
Mom interjects, setting her fork down and placing a hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Cam grew up in Philly, Greyston. The Eagles are his favorite team.”
Smirking, Greyston swallows the bite he’d just taken, grabs his napkin from his lap, and wipes his mouth. “Well, that’s too bad.” Dad seems confused. “It’s going to be hard to watch them lose, then.”